It Ain't My Problem
by kclaura2003
Summary: Daryl and Merle spot the original Atlanta group and make plans to rob them. Set in S1. One-shot. Daryl & Merle. Rated T for some language.


**Hi, there! :) Thanks for checking out this one-shot. In S3, Merle reminds Daryl that they were planning to rob the original Atlanta group and this is my little take on how they would have planned it in S1. I'll warn y'all: you may not like Daryl in this but remember this is way before he got to know the group. **

**I do not own The Walking Dead.**

**Enjoy! :)**

It Ain't My Problem

Two brothers were crouching in the thicket, spying on a camp just outside Atlanta. One was older and rough-looking; the other one was younger, had a less intimidating appearance but just as rough as his elder – both of them products of the north Georgia backwoods. The older man, Merle, had a Winchester rifle slung over his shoulder. The younger man, Daryl, held a Horton Scout crossbow. They had traveled to Atlanta to seek help, like everybody else, but discovered the city had fallen to the dead.

The two men were watching a group of seventeen: seven men, six women and four children.

"Well…Whaddya think?" Merle tossed Daryl a sideways glance.

"Think 'bout what?" Daryl spat. "They ain't gonna have us…looks like they got plenty folks as it is."

Merle reached over and slapped the backside of Daryl's head.

"I'm not talkin' 'bout makin' friends with these people, baby brotha, and you know that. Look at all that shit they got there…"

Merle gestured with his head toward the direction of a 1970s era Winnebago.

"Lookie there…at that RV. Looks like the old man sittin' on top of it got himself a nice Remington I'd like to get my hands on."

Daryl's blue eyes scanned the camp. He saw the RV with a man, either in his late fifties or early sixties, perched on the rooftop in a lawn chair, fishing hat on his head and rifle resting on his lap. He was grinning, looking down and talking to two blonde women, sisters perhaps.

Daryl's eyes wandered over to his left. He saw three women. Two of them were white: one was a brunette, skinny, and wearing a purple plaid shirt and jeans. The other woman was a little older had short, graying hair, and wore a green sleeveless top and khaki cargo pants. The black woman wore a floral peasant top and jeans. All three were sitting around a cast-iron skillet on an open range cooking and talking.

Not too far adjacent from the women were four kids: two boys and two girls playing together. Near a parked station wagon there was a Mexican man and his wife. Beyond that there were five more: a bearded middle-aged guy in a greasy baseball cap, a fat man drinking a beer, a bald black man, a young Asian dude, and a healthy-looking, brick wall of a man in a black T-shirt and curly dark brown hair who was cleaning a very nice Mossberg shotgun.

It was an interesting mix of people, people who would probably never would have mixed at all if things weren't as they were. However, the group seemed well-organized and well supplied. The men had some nice firearms and probably several rounds of ammunition. They had camping gear, cooking utensils, and vehicles. Daryl glanced over to Merle, who was still eying the old man and the two blondes.

"Old man probably got some good prescription drugs in that RV," Daryl commented and Merle nodded.

"Looks like he also got him a pair of Goldilocks'." Merle snickered, nudging Daryl with his elbow. "Hey, you can have the 'lil one and I'll take the big one…eh? She looks like she'd be a wildcat in the sack –"

Daryl punched Merle in his shoulder as hard as he could, cutting him off.

"Knock it off, Merle. It's like you said: We ain't here to make friends…or to get laid either. They got some good stuff. How we goin' 'bout gettin' it from 'em?"

Daryl turned his attention back to the camp and to the well-built guy with the shotgun. He gestured with his head towards that direction.

"I think the meat-head o'er there is gonna be the biggest problem…son of a bitch looks ripped."

Merle chuckled. "Why, you ain't afraid of him are you, _Darlina_?"

Merle took a good look at the muscle man with the shotgun and began to crack his knuckles, one-by-one.

"I could take him…If I had to… But you know what, baby brotha? They say you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

Daryl wrinkled his brow and gave his brother a skeptical glare.

"Yeah?" He said. "How we goin' 'bout doin' that? Are we gonna wow 'em with our good-looks and charm?"

A devious smile spread across Merle face.

"Not just any charm…The one and only _Dixon_ charm…The way I see it…we go in there…Naw, wait…here's what we do: you and me are gonna go out and we're gonna kill as much wild game as we can carry. Bring back all the squirrels, jackrabbits, chipmunks – if it's furry and walks on four legs – we kill it, bring it with us. We show them fools we're real hunters 'cause that's what we are. We tell 'em we could be..._helpful_ to 'em. Got me so far, man?"

Daryl nodded. He glanced back at the group again. They seemed to have done pretty well so far gathering food but judging by the looks of them they were all previously city-slickers and not a single one would know how to track, kill, and skin an animal like the two brothers would.

"Show 'em we're hunters," Daryl agreed. "Yeah. Build up some trust and they'll let us in."

Merle nodded. "Uh-huh. And when they least expect it – we rob 'em blind. Take it all."

Daryl raised an eyebrow. "Hey…they got kids, Merle… We can't –"

Merle held up his hand. "Relax, Daryl. I didn't say anything 'bout hurtin' anybody. We don't have to hurt anybody – as long as they cooperate."

"How you plannin' on gettin' the meat-head to cooperate?" Daryl asked. "And we're two guys against seven, ya know. Two is less than seven, just case ya forgot that."

Merle condescendingly patted his younger brother's shoulder.

"We'll make it happen…I mean, you're right: besides the muscle man, it'll be a breeze. We can take on a nigger, a beaner and a chink…a pair of grease-ball losers, and an old man. What else is there to it?"

"What about the women?" Daryl asked.

Merle smirked. "We can take them with us too, if ya want-"

"You're so full of shit, Merle." Daryl scoffed. "What if the _women_ try to defend their _men_?" He rephrased the question.

Merle stood up slowly and shifted the strap of the rifle on his shoulder.

"Well then…it's gonna suck to be them, ain't it, baby brotha?" He cackled as he started to walk away.

"It ain't my problem, man…" Daryl heard Merle carrying on as he watched him disappear back into the woods. "My only problem anymore is survivin'…you and me both, Daryl…That's the _one _thing you should care 'bout most: you and your own. That's you and me. Brothas 'til the end…"

Merle's voice trailed off. Daryl stood up, slung his crossbow over his shoulder and began to follow. He took one last glance back at the camp. The people seemed like generally nice, decent folks. Regardless, being nice and decent wasn't going to save them. It wasn't going to protect them from those flesh-eating freaks and it wasn't going to protect them from assholes like us, Daryl thought.

"It _is_ gonna suck to be them," He mumbled out loud as he lit a cigarette and walked away.


End file.
